Creative Works
An Alternate Ending (Part 3)
By Kendra
joyjohns(at)bconnex.net
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: All of the characters from BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, 20th Century Fox Television and the Warner Brothers television network.
. . .
The pale knuckles of his strong hands gripped the armrests of his chair.
Angel did not have a functioning organ in his body but something was
pulsating through his entire being: a mixture of pain, remorse, complete
fear and total sadness- the worst was yet to come.
The commotion in Buffy's operating room was phenomenal and made Angel all
the more wary. Suddenly the words hit him, and it was as if the demon his
soul had replaced was making one last impact on Angel's sad existence.
"Come on, we're losing her." That's all he heard and then everything went
black: his world, his life, his entire reason for going on - it had all
been ripped away from him in that moment....or so he thought. He was never
one to give up but this evening had taken such a toll on his sanity that
even he was not sure how to react. All he knew was that his one and only
soulmate was lying helpless, in critical condition, on a gurney, with a
bullet wound.....his mind raced for a second. Shaking his head, he blocked
any memories from returning. This was not the time or place to take pity on
one's self. Deciding to remove himself from the not-so-comfortable confines
of the hospital waiting room, he stood and prepared to race to Buffy's
side. This time no orderly, nurse, nor doctor could stop him; he had to see
Buffy; he had to save her. How? He wasn't sure, but he would find a way
even if it meant destroying everything in his path. His rampage had only
just begun.
Xander helped Giles over to the admittance desk where a petite young nurse
sat with her eyes fixated on the computer monitor in front of her. "Name?"
She asked, her voice verging on annoyance; it had been a busy night. "He
needs help..." Xander began as Giles slumped out of his arms and tumbled
onto the desk. "See?" Xander stated, almost impressed by Giles' sense of
timing. Suddenly the nurse arose from her station and beckoned to several
young orderlies. Xander was taken aback by the sudden commotion taking
place around him. Giles was not in serious condition; however, he was in a
state of pain and drained of all energy; the orderlies almost seemed eager
to have a patient they could handle. "Easy." Xander eased, "Don't go all
turbo-doctor or anything." Shaking his head in mock-shame, he turned to
take a seat in the waiting room.
"Watch it, Man!" Xander blurted as he was nearly bowled over by a frantic
figure clothed in black. The man did not turn to apologize; he merely
grunted and continued running down the corridor. The miffed teenager began
to turn around once again but was accosted by an eerie sense of
familiarity. He wasn't sure why Buffy's 'spider-sense' had rubbed off on
him but something told him to pursue this John Doe character. He decided
to follow him, hesitantly at first but, after witnessing the havoc this guy
was wreaking by steam rolling over every person in his path, Xander then
decided to pick up the pace.
Pushing trays filled with instruments and empty wheelchairs which had been
taking up space in the busy halls, Angel cleared a path to Buffy's room.
The double doors stood a small distance away; nothing could stop him now -
not even the trail of security officers he was leaving behind. His face was
eager to morph but that was the last thing Angel needed; he had to maintain
his human facade in the presence of these mortals, no matter how impossible
the task may seem.
The doctors loomed over Buffy, scrupulously monitoring her condition. She
looked so distressed and her face was contorted with pain; she was,
however, unconscious but she still wore the expression of a young girl
victimized by the one she loved. The doctors were taken aback by the blur
of recent hectic events. Angel rushed in, practically diving onto Buffy's
gurney as security followed closely behind. "No! Please? You have to....you
don't under....I need her...she's mine...I......." His words were coming
out scrambled; it was as though someone had deprived him of his ability to
communicate. His hysterics did not go unnoticed.
Security was so occupied in getting a hold of the crazed mad man rampaging
through Sunnydale General that they did not see the befuddled highschool
student. Xander entered the room, taking notice of the confused officers
and doctors, who were clueless as to what they should be doing. The
scenario seemed so insane; mockingly Xander analyzed the situation. 'So
this is it? No demons-no nothin'? Wow Sunnydale, you surprise me!' he
thought to himself. Then he looked closer; the limp figure on the operating
table wasn't that of a stranger....it was Buffy!! "NO!" His heart raced;
unlike Angel he could react to the situation normally - with a change in
bodily functions. He rushed to her side and leaned over her, concerned.
"What...?" he gasped to no one in particular. Order was finally going to be
restored. "Security, do your job and take these men away" the doctor
stated matter of factly. 'Men?' Xander asked himself. His concern was
interrupted briefly by the doctor's words. Suddenly, Xander took notice of
the whimpering figure just feet away from Buffy. Xander's instincts kicked
into full throttle. Lunging at the lone vampire in mortal form, he attacked
Angel before security had a chance to prevent the outraged teen from doing
so. He was insanely angry and in proportion, the violence grew. 'What does
he think he's doing? Portraying a saddened lover? He's sick...sick.'
Xander's mind raced. How could he? It became clear to Xander in that
moment....Angel had been the one to put Buffy in this condition. Angel lay
there, pinned by his familiar aqquaintance; his first instinct was to rip
the boy into unrecognizable pieces for attacking him when he was so close
to Buffy. He had to be there with her, he had to save her; then he saw the
boy's face: the angered, confused and petrified features of Xander. Angel
looked up at him with puzzled eyes. Xander was impressed by Angel's
ability to act; he was playing the tortured mate so very well that it
seemed a shame to ruin his encore performance.
"How could you? You tried to kill her and now you're here? If I had
known....." Xander paused to look up at Buffy; his heart stopped. He loved
her, it was obvious, but he had loved so many girls in his life; it was all
part of his puzzling, never-ending soap opera, which was unworthy of the
cliche, 'A love triangle'. It was more like a love octagon at this point.
The doctors had decided to continue treating Buffy, even with the commotion
going on a few feet away. The officers in Sunnydale really were incredibely
stupid and they wanted no part in the twisted scene. Xander quickly
realized that this was no time to deal with enemies, not while Buffy lay
there helplessly. As he stood up slowly, taking in the commotion before
him, he tried to collect himself. Angel lay there in a whirlwind of
confusion. There were so many unanswered questions. 'Why had Xander gone to
such an extreme?' Angel always knew of his jealousy when it came to the
relationship that he and Buffy shared, but never in his 241 years of living
had he thought a mortal boy could behave in such an animalistic fashion.
That's when it happened. Right there on the floor of the operating room,
with a handful of strangers scattered about, Angel remembered. He was
forced into a state of knowing...everything. This time he saw more than
just faces - he saw death, destruction, and the pleasure his demon had
gotten from these acts. Suddenly Angel felt as though he had been immersed
in water; a black liquid filled his eyes: condensed tears which refused to
stop flowing. He saw the statue, the ritual, and the girl that had tried to
stop all of it from happening. "BUFFY!", her name came out as a hoarse,
scratchy plea; it was the only word his troubled mind could elucidate. He
was completely and totally focused solely on her. He saw her face, the
face he had fallen in love with, the face that was imprinted in his mind -
in his dreams, the face that was contorted with fear as he pulled a pistol
from his trenchcoat.
He saw her body, the body he had enfolded tenderly in his arms, the body he
had been eager to embrace, the body he had become one with the night his
soul had been usurped, the same body that crumpled to the ground after the
bullet tore through her body - a wound perpetrated by his own hand. He had
been the one to inflict such indescribable pain on the one thing he loved
more than life, or worse yet, immortal life itself. He had been the one to
threaten Buffy, time and time again.
He was rattled to the bone; his entire body shook in a frenzy of
convulsions. Shame and self-hatred overwhelmed him. All he could feel was
the urge to leave his pitiful existence behind, his disgusting and
repulsive being. Worst of all, he felt the hatred Buffy had developed for
him. 'How could this happen? How could I? Why? How?' Endless questions
raced through his mind. Still concentrating on her name, he rolled onto his
side, mustering the strength to open his eyes. "Buffy....." he had to stay
away from her, from everything, anything. He was a threat to everyone he
had ever cared for and, in the period of a few short months, he had become
the enemy. All he ever wanted was to protect Buffy, to love her and show
her how much she brightened his dismal world. She brought meaning to his
life, and he was driven by that. At the mercy of Angelus, he had thrown
everything away. Hatred was building inside him as the demon rose to the
surface - hatred for himself, and especially his separate entity. Rising
slowly, desperately, Angel tore out of the operating room. His legs moved
mechanically; he was running on madness now. Buffy did not need him there,
he would be the end of her, and he was now searching for punishment. He had
to pay for his deeds; making up for them seemed impossible.
Running into the night Angel screamed Buffy's name over and over like a
sacred mantra; she was the last piece of sanity he held onto as he gave in
to self-pity. Staggering into the night, drunk on emotion, Angel searched
hopelessly for the setting sun.
Stepping onto the streets of Sunnydale, two figures, masked by darkness and
devoured by evil, smiled into the night. A sing-song voice echoed into the
velvet sky, "Time to play..." A British, peroxide-haired bloke responded to
the whimsical damsel, "Game, set....match!"
. . .
Page 3 of 3
To be continued...?
. . .
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